So I have a huge arranged marriage kink. I need the first time Sherlock meets John to be on their wedding day.
At first everything is super awkward. John thinks that Sherlock's standoffish attitude is because he doesn't want to be married, and Sherlock can't figure out why John won't just kiss him already, but is too proud to admit that he wants John to.
Eventually after much angst and confusion someone is like “You know what? We’re /married./ We don’t really have to follow all the crazy dating rules.”
And so they have hot surprisingly intimate sex and fluff abounds :D
Fill: Bound in Gold 4apennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:21:48 UTC
John didn’t jerk at the sudden cacophony outside, but it was a near thing. He did, however, turn his head very slightly toward the door and ask, “What was that
( ... )
Fill: Bound in Gold 4bpennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:22:16 UTC
Later, when Antanas had wandered off with a sheet of notes and promises of “One more fitting, Dr Watson, and we are done.” John meandered through the halls of the Holmes estate. The place was huge and daunting, and John sometimes thought of it as a minor palace. He wondered if he’d be living there, after the wedding. Surely Sherlock would want to stay in his childhood home. Somehow, the idea of living in the middle of all this opulence made John uneasy, a bit like that time he, Harry and their parents had taken that boat along the Thames, and John hadn’t been able to adjust to the constant rocking under his feet
( ... )
Fill: Bound in Gold 5pennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:25:22 UTC
Sherlock let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, and gently lowered his hands from the door, keeping the bracelet as quiet as possible. Perfect. Just perfect. First contact with the man he was to marry and his first words had been “piss off”. Bloody brilliant
( ... )
Fill: Bound in Gold 6apennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:34:25 UTC
It was both the shortest and longest month of John’s life. Parts of it flew by, a flurry of interviews and magazine features and endless bouts of shopping with Harry. Other parts dragged glacially from second to second: fittings for his tux and reception suit, meetings with the wedding organisers to rehearse where he’d walk, where he’d stand, what he’d say. If he had to hear one more word about that bloody bracelet someone was going to end up on the floor with a military issue left boot pressed against their neck. He’d been forced to recite his vows so many times he was beginning to hear them in his sleep. He toyed with the idea of recording himself at night to see if he’d started sleep-reciting them
( ... )
Re: Fill: Bound in Gold 6apennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:35:35 UTC
His shoes were so shiny he could see his reflection, and his skin hadn’t looked this clear and smooth since before he’d joined up. He wondered what had become of the calluses on his fingers. He’d been rather proud of those. They were suspiciously absent now. As was his cane. He’d decided he would walk for himself, today of all days, and damn the consequences. He’d swallowed the strongest painkillers in his medicine cabinet and forced himself to walk through the ache and the sharp, shooting agony. He’d started practicing the week before, and it was easier now to ignore the pain, though he always ended up suffering later. Well, he’d deal with that when the time came
( ... )
Fill: Bound in Gold 6cpennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:37:20 UTC
The church was enormous, a towering cathedral that wasn’t actually a cathedral, being C of E and all. But it was massive and imposing and very, very gold. It probably had cathedrals in its ancestry.
Inside, it was white. Dazzling white, spotted with gold. Everything not white was black. It screamed tradition and sophistication. It also screamed expensive. There were two seemingly endless rows of pews stretching toward the altar, each one adorned with white bunting and a bundle of white roses.
A squeal from somewhere to his right cut through his observations, and he turned to see Harry rushing toward him, arms open wide. He frantically backed away, his hands in front of him in a “stay back” gesture.
“Harry! Harry stop right there! I’m not entirely sure what they’ll do to me if anything happens to this tux but I really don’t want to find out.” Wild boars. He thought, and shuddered
( ... )
Fill: Bound in Gold 6dpennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:38:19 UTC
They chatted a bit as they waited, every so often peeking round the tall golden pillar blocking the view to the church proper so they could see how many guests had arrived. The noise was constant but muted as people filed into the hall, taking their seats and conversing quietly but animatedly in anticipation of the ceremony. John felt his innards clench and twist more and more tightly with each passing second, and forced himself to focus on Bill’s enthusiastic retelling of the time he and John had stolen their female CO’s knickers and run them up the flagpole. John remembered that day mostly for the five hundred push ups he’d had to do over the course of his punishment. He’d barely been able to pick up his fork at mess
( ... )
Fill: Bound in Gold 6epennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:38:56 UTC
Finally, after what felt like several lifetimes, John felt the heat of another human body beside his. No, two human bodies. There was a rustling, and someone quite small brushed up against him briefly before moving away. Lady Holmes, of course. She’d been the one to escort Sherlock down the aisle
( ... )
Fill: Bound in Gold 7apennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:45:56 UTC
Sherlock hated the mask even more than he hated the incessantly cheerful bracelet. It had been made to the exact dimensions of his face, so there were absolutely no gaps through which light could penetrate, and it blinded him completely. Sherlock hated the loss of his sight. It was so much a part of who he was, his ability to see what no one else could.
And it made him so feeble. He’d been inside the church before, but not since it had been decorated. He was no longer sure of the layout, and had to rely entirely on mummy to guide his steps
( ... )
Fill: Bound in Gold 7bpennin_inkFebruary 27 2011, 00:47:03 UTC
When he’d started speaking, Sherlock noticed a slight catch in John’s breath. He remembered that John’s only experience with his voice had been a ragged, infuriated scream aimed at Mycroft. John had never heard Sherlock’s speaking voice before. He felt a bit...smug at that. He knew full well the effect his voice had on people. He’d heard it compared to dark silk, melted chocolate, warm honey, and sin. He wondered what it was doing to John now, in front of all these people, as it spoke words of devotion, faithfulness and love.
“To seal this union, the couple will now exchange rings, a symbol of their bond, and the endlessness of their commitment.”
Sherlock would have groaned at the cheesiness of that statement, not to mention the inaccuracy, if his brain wasn’t so full with thoughts of finally. Finally! as John’s deft and steady hands undid the clasp on Sherlock’s bracelet. The hateful thing fell away from his wrist and into John’s hand before it was handed off to someone behind Sherlock. Mycroft, most likely. A moment later, a cool
( ... )
At first everything is super awkward. John thinks that Sherlock's standoffish attitude is because he doesn't want to be married, and Sherlock can't figure out why John won't just kiss him already, but is too proud to admit that he wants John to.
Eventually after much angst and confusion someone is like “You know what? We’re /married./ We don’t really have to follow all the crazy dating rules.”
And so they have hot surprisingly intimate sex and fluff abounds :D
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“Everything will have to go through him. It’ll be worse.”
Is Sherlock exaggerating and being melodramatic? or does everything really have to go through John?
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Inside, it was white. Dazzling white, spotted with gold. Everything not white was black. It screamed tradition and sophistication. It also screamed expensive. There were two seemingly endless rows of pews stretching toward the altar, each one adorned with white bunting and a bundle of white roses.
A squeal from somewhere to his right cut through his observations, and he turned to see Harry rushing toward him, arms open wide. He frantically backed away, his hands in front of him in a “stay back” gesture.
“Harry! Harry stop right there! I’m not entirely sure what they’ll do to me if anything happens to this tux but I really don’t want to find out.” Wild boars. He thought, and shuddered ( ... )
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And it made him so feeble. He’d been inside the church before, but not since it had been decorated. He was no longer sure of the layout, and had to rely entirely on mummy to guide his steps ( ... )
Reply
“To seal this union, the couple will now exchange rings, a symbol of their bond, and the endlessness of their commitment.”
Sherlock would have groaned at the cheesiness of that statement, not to mention the inaccuracy, if his brain wasn’t so full with thoughts of finally. Finally! as John’s deft and steady hands undid the clasp on Sherlock’s bracelet. The hateful thing fell away from his wrist and into John’s hand before it was handed off to someone behind Sherlock. Mycroft, most likely. A moment later, a cool ( ... )
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